


All Is Lost

by Lonewritersclub



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Arkham Asylum, Batjokes, Broken Joker, Gen, Hallucinations, Identity Issues, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mental Hospital, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Psychological Trauma, Sad Joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonewritersclub/pseuds/Lonewritersclub
Summary: Locked up behind gentle white walls, Joker aches for Batsy.





	1. The Beginning Of An End

It's a feeling one cannot shake easily. It's a feeling of missing something, that being the object of your obsession and affection, and not being able to avoid the feeling of something being loose inside you as that one things has been taken away from you. Falling and knowing there's nothing catching you at the end. You can only hope to catch the rope that falls just from within your reach. 

And the more time passes on, the feeling eats you more and more until core is hit and there's just licking and and suckling on the fragile, white bones. All the while you're just waiting for that one thing to come back. Begging, pleading, praying to everything that's out there. Because you _cannot_ lose hope, but at the same time, oh, there's so _little_ of it...

All things considered, no one would have guessed what happened before it was too late to stop it from escalating into a downward spiral heading straight to rock bottom that they didn't even know existed - for this, the present was already thought out to be one for him. This was Joker weeping against the white padded corner of the room and looking like a victim of love and obsession more than one couldn't have known him capable of since after all he _was_ the Clown Prince of Crime and nothing else would suffice. For the odd doctors and nurses who prodded and poked at his brain, wanting to see him as just another murderer with a tendency for having psychosis. They would not be able to just lock him up when he showed more raw humanity than they had ever seen in their lives before.

No one would have guessed, expected it to come to this, because it all started like it always did.

Batman had taken Joker in after yet another brutal night out on the town and shipped him back off to Arkham Asylum. Soon he was placed in his usual, customized cell at the intensive treatment ward and no one spared a glance back at him through the small slot in the metal door when walking back to their lives. No one but Batman, and he told Joker to get better and that he would come back for him then. His expression was collected and firm like usual, though blue eyes sadder than normal as he looked down at the bound maniac staring right back him with glossy, livid green eyes. 

And Joker had nothing but laughed in his face and said: "Sure, Batsy! See ya then! Lova ya!", sure enough that they would see each other much sooner than later from a "recovery". He would make his way back to the streets of Gotham city in no time and they would fight and fight and love until they bled. That was his plan, it always was. He wasn't going to let this temporary set-back dull him down. He never did. He was getting out again in a few days like always.

But it wasn't all too simple anymore. He did love challenges too and was rather gleeful at first when he noticed that he would need to work on his escape with a little bit more thinking this time.

Not for long though.

Days stretched into weeks and weeks to months. He could not imagine what had made the asylum change so drastically which lead to all of his options of escape vanishing and only one left to remaining.

That's when he knew the Bat had to be behind it. His cell wasn't customized by another daft engineer. The usual and unusual ways of getting out weren't nicked away from him by an amateur who had no idea who in fact the _Joker_ was.

That one way out was exactly what Bats had asked of him. But did he not know the most important part about the Joker then?

The Joker was incurable.

 

* * *

 

I

II

III              Hahahah

IV

V                                 _Hahahahahahahahah..._

VI

VII                                             _HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_

VIII

IX                                                               **HAHAHAHAAHAhahahaHAHAHAahhahaaaah!!!**

X

XI                                                                                   _ **HAHAHAHAAHAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!**_

XII                                                                                                                                                                                         **!!!**  

 

* * *

 Months stretched into a year and still the clock kept ticking away. One, two, three, four, five, six... Sixty, one, two, three, four, five, six...

He couldn't stop. Couldn't. Couldn't _they_ see that?!

He had ended up in solitary more times than he was allowed in the common areas and his "usual" room. White, padded, secure, white, white, white.

No clock there, but still the consistent, infuriating ticking kept going inside his head and he was going just CRAZY from it! Just the same old, same old from day one to day two. He was not man made for lying on soft floors with his hands bound crossed over his chest. He was a man of action and anarchy. A man made for the Bat - not for piercing needles filled with liquid that made his knees weak and head fuzzy with thoughts not so funny.

But the damn Batman wouldn't let up. Would not let him out until he gave in.

He would have to decide what he wanted most. Get things into perspective. _Prioritize._  

He wanted the Bat of course. The most. He was what he needed to be himself. But if that meant sacrificing himself, then even if he did get Bats back, would he be complete anymore? Was this not unfair and unjustified by the Bat with everything he stood for?

Twisted he was. Just like him.

That should have made him smile. But that sure was a thing of struggle with the muzzle plastered over his mouth to keep him quiet. The laughing was making the _other_ patients agitated. 

Oh, but _he_ would show him. He would show him that the Bat needed him as much he needed him and if he would not be able to get out, then the _Bat_ would have to get in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I had to edit this first chapter (should edit the others too, yes, I know) since it was so full of mistakes. It's still a bit lame, but if you were even in the slightest interested, I would advice on reading a bit further because I think it does get at least a little bit better from here. Writing vice, Joker's not becoming all that lovely however.


	2. Slowly But Surely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's taken a while, but don't think I'm one to update very consistently. But I'd appreciate your feedback on this so I'll know how it's received and where to look a little closer.

It takes time to get used to. They say that to all patients, when they first arrive. To Joker they say that every time he arrives. Hoping it'll somehow work. But he never does get used to it. He could never get used to this. He loathes the place, its purpose, with such passion, he could not let himself shake down.

It's forced upon him. To take it all in. To wallow in misery in the isolation cell. It's really tough for his brain to endure. For this long and without the possibility of getting out. 

Yes. 

Joker is not getting out. 

He has tried everything by now. Tried twisting the nurses minds against the others and move to his side. Done even sexual favors in turn for ordinary household materials he hoped he could use as his tools to breakout. But he had to choose wisely when trading so that they wouldn't realize what he was up to. He was asking for mugs, crayons and whatever he could think of using together to help him escape. 

But they raided him. He had hid them under some of the padding, but they noticed this. They searched him and pulled out green crayons out of him and installed video cameras in his cell.

The thought of being held captive like this and possibly for the rest of time, it burns his insides. Anxiety coils inside his gut into tight knots and he feels sick. He looks at the doctors and the nurses and the patients and he wants to scream. Instead he just starts to laugh and he can't stop laughing. He needs to get out. 

Out he needs to get. He doesn't even get to see the outside here. It's all locked behind padded walls and white concrete.

There has to be a window. There are windows. If he could only get to one. If he could only see. If he could only see the dark skies and the mighty light calling for his savior. 

They don't let him. They say things that start to lose all meaning. For if he's not allowed to do anything (though who's he to ever go by the rules) then what could they tell him that would interest him?

They give him drugs. They give everyone drugs. They try all kinds. Red, green, blue, yellow. Not purple though.

They mix them up. Some of them are plain white however. Joker doesn't eat those ones. He's had enough of white. So they give him shots when he doesn't take the white ones. 

The drugs make his head go fuzzy and for a while it's alright. The anxiety relents if only for a few hours. It's still better than nothing. He eats them up and doesn't remember what he does after. 

They keep mixing the drugs up until he starts to remember. Different neurotransmitters going through his synapses and some inhibitory, some accelerating. His dopamine levels are high. He gets hallucinations. They fear for a moment they gave him a really bad dose (they don't know what to do with him so they try everything without much care) and made him schizophrenic.

It's fine in a couple days though and he's back to himself. But that wasn't a wanted result either. 

Slowly they are getting closer though. Joker doesn't notice it himself though. He's too high to really see anything past the things he's forced to look at in his mind. But things are changing in Arkham. A certain rich gentleman has made some very generous donations to the establishment and held fundraisers in benefit of the institution hoping to help the patients' recoveries along. New doctors and nurses have been hired and old ones fired. Better, more sufficient treatments are being developed. The place is being transformed into a safe place for the mentally unstable.

Things are looking up for the patients and workers alike finally.

But Joker doesn't notice, because he cannot get used to this. He won't take it. 

His medication is changed once more after a qualified doctor takes a look at him. His dose is lowered from twenty pills a day to a single one. And why don't you look at that - it's purple. 

But do not be mislead. This is the newest one on the market and the strongest one out there in a long long time. 

The first time they give it to him, Joker passes out the second his eyes shut for a moment too long. He collapses on the soft floor. 

When he wakes up, he cannot remember anything. But then again, Joker cannot really even think about anything when his eyelids slide open. All logic is lost on him and his track of thought has no direction. He simply stares at the white ceiling with mouth agape and green eyes laced with confusion. 

He looks at the ceiling and how it's white and how the light is white and bright and illuminates the curves of the padding and they are white too. The walls are white and so is the floor. The bed. The dishes they bring his food in. Most of the time his food too. 

Even his clothes are white. Even his goddamn skin is white. 

Everything is white and a thought springs into his mind.

_White is such a boring color_

And suddenly that's all that he can think about. He keeps staring at the ceiling, because he cannot control his muscles yet, and thinks over the words over and over again. 

_White is such a boring color_

He thinks about that and before he realizes it, it becomes stronger. It becomes a chanting he cannot stop from occurring. He cannot. He cannot think about anything else but that

_White is such a boring color_

It becomes stronger and stronger and louder by the second until it's so strong and so loud that he feels like it's going to break his eardrums (even though that is impossible). It feels like it's filling his brain with it and it's going to explode soon. It's cracking the bone of his skull and driving itself out of his head until it reaches other lands. Maybe the moon. 

He really cannot take this anymore. Because 

_White is such a boring color_

He begins saying it out loud without knowing. And he says it in a conversing tone. His muscles begin to work and soon he's sitting up. 

"White is such a boring color", he says and shakes his head as he looks at the white ceiling.

And that becomes louder too. "White is such a boring color", he says louder and louder and stands up. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling as he'd be in trance by it. And in other words, he is.

He walks to the door and when he gets to the added small slot where he can see the straight and white corridor that leads out of the intensive treatment ward. He shouts it. The other patients (which are not many anymore - most have got better and been transferred to minimum security wards) moan for him to shut up, but he can't. 

 "White is such a boring color!" he screams out and chants it and sure enough his throat starts to burn. He pounds his fists against the padded door in vain. Desperate. So desperate. 

Eventually the nurses come rushing in with a stern (but professional and caring) doctor in tow and fill his cell. Their clothes are white too. The nurses hold him down as he screams that same sentence over and over again and grins wide at the doctor as he pinches him underneath his skin with his long needles. 

Calm runs through Joker's veins and just as he reaches his brain, he can finally think of something else. 

White is such a boring color. He just wants black and blue.

And the nurses lay him down on the soft bed and tie his hands and ankles to it, when the doctor looks at him with calculating eyes. He looks interested and leans in closer because suddenly Joker whispers something he really won't stop staying.

"Where's Batsy?"


	3. The Revelation Draws Closer

The asylum had been reformed. And it continued on until Joker's doctor was switched once again, not deemed suitable enough (he was even after all the background checks one among the many who had some personal oppositions against the patient in question). And so Joker was let out of solitary confinement after two years. 

Renovating had been done all around the installment and Joker's hazy mind could barely recognize the building as itself anymore. 

They transferred him into a shared room with Harvey Dent. Two-Face was long gone, but the vestiges of it remained visible on his skin which was one of the reasons why he stayed even though he had made a recovery on the part of his mind. Other reasons included not being able to face the destruction of his life outside the asylum. When people would recognize him, and believe anyone, they will, who knew what might happen to him then. He might as well go straight to the morgue if he decided to step outside the grounds. 

The same was to happen to the Joker.

If he ever did recover that is and terribly many thought of the possibility being slight to none. At least he was calmer these days if nothing else. Though maybe not so much calm as just not as violent as he usually had been. Long hours passed in a white room just by yourself can do that to you. Your mind numbs per say - even if you weren't being fed strong doses of medication for psychosis every day. He was still given the purple pill, but that accompanied a new one which tamed his nature a bit. Or a lot. It was plain white again and it gave his movements a sluggish tone at first. It was sedating but did not grow him a tolerance towards it like they usually did. 

The day they led him out of the padded room not to just take him to the showers, but to a whole other area, Joker became overwhelmed by the fresh input. The new and brilliantly white, clean scenery of modern health care overstimulated his senses which were irritated in the beginning anyways just for being out of the quiet intensive treatment hall and his cushioned cell and being taken to a slightly louder one.

His new hallway was vast. On each side there were large door-to-ceiling windows which made up the front wall and the door to the rooms that bordered the hall. People were in them wearing white cotton t-shirts and pants just like him. And they were doing things. 

Poison Ivy - for Joker only really remembered her for that name, or as plant lady as he had liked to call her - was reading a book on her (comfortable) bed. Crane was scribbling away on his desk in a fancy, thick notebook. Some who had roommates, were talking with each other or playing cards. The patients were allowed basic stationery and their needs were being taken care of and more. They were like normal people if one cut away the odd bits of their history and simply focused on what there was to see now. Most of them even had their appearances "cleaned-up" and looked fairly ordinary. They looked _sane._

But you couldn't say the same for Joker. 

When they walked him out in a party of five wardens and nurses with a doctor at the head of it, all of the patients eyes turned to him. You couldn't have missed him with that wild ever-green hair and paper-white skin and red lips (both ever so lightly paler than they had been before from all of the holding down). But the patients weren't the only ones ogling with surprised and baffled expressions. Joker kept looking around himself like a scared cornered animal. He kept his head down but glanced with his acid green eyes from side to side between the nurses and wardens every now and then on a look-out for danger. 

And that would have been the most significant change in Joker's nature nowadays - he was afraid. Easily so. He was cautious of everyone's intentions and plans with him. What they were thinking about. What they were going to do. And how would he himself react. He was wary, because he was losing touch with reality bit by bit after being alone with his thoughts for so long. And having not seen the Batman in two years... well it might as well been a death sentence to him. He was losing who he  _was._ Who he was supposed to be for everyone. All that was left of him were the smithereens of what he should have been. And the grotesque put-together he had claimed of them, made him really seem insane. 

_But he was just trying to be perfect for the Bat._

Dent had been informed about his new roommate's arrival beforehand and who it would be, but when he saw the lithe and unusually trembling body of the Joker being led into his neat and somewhat personalized room, he couldn't help but gape at him openly. As soon as the green eyes spotted him, still as hypnotizing and captivating as ever, he forced his jaw to work and shut his mouth and try feign away the confused expression on his face.

They sat him on the other bed which was to be his, right opposite to Dent, and then they took off the padded handcuffs from around his small wrists and left him be. The doctor told him that his next sessions would be held in an entirely other room this time instead of the same room where he slept and spent most of his time like it had been before, and the nurses would lead him there tomorrow morning. 

With that she left too and Joker was left alone with Dent. 

Joker gazed up and down the man sitting in front of him with wide eyes and hugged his legs to his chest while doing so. Harvey felt uncomfortable under that scared mouse look and tried to appear as nonthreatening and relaxed as possible for the sake of them both. After a few minutes in silence, Joker tugged on the comforter on his bunk and wrapped it over himself until he was completely under the blanket and even the edges of it had been tucked under him so that it couldn't have been taken away from him. He was just a hill covered in snow and he stayed like that over dinner (leaving it untouched and leaving a worried looking nurse to get it) and all through the night. Dent decided to just go about his business and thought that maybe that was just what the clown needed from him at the moment to be able to adapt to his new room and to deem Dent to be safe. If Harvey didn't start beating him up during the dead of the night, Joker would see that he didn't hold a grudge anymore. That Dent was a changed man. 

The next day while Dent was having breakfast in the dining room (Joker wasn't let out there yet, the meal was brought to him to his room still), Joker inspected the room from inch to inch. He went through the papers and other things Harvey had lying around and the nonexistent cracks in the white walls. He looked around through the window wall to see where the security cameras were and how the mechanics of the sliding door worked. 

They might have drugged him up and made his mind wind a bit slower, almost to a normal speed, but that didn't stop him from trying his chances. He would take every and each on and treasure it until it was a waterproof plan. 

Yet again though, he couldn't come up with anything. There wasn't much he could think of doing other than just to run when the next time the door was opened. But he was certain that he would be caught by the dozen wardens around the halls. And he didn't know how anything worked these days at the hospital. He hadn't seen enough and he doubted they would in a long time. 

All the while Joker was doing this and calculating his options, the Riddler was watching him from the room opposite to him with a sorrowful expression gracing his face. He felt sorry for Joker who almost pathetically was trying to find a way out. Because Riddler knew himself that there was no chance of that happening around here anymore even with his abilities. He just hoped there still could be a future for the clown like there was for him. For Riddler was getting released the next month and already had a nice, legal working place waiting for him and his great skills in operating with numbers and clues. No other than Commissioner Gordon had the back of an ex-criminal.  

But as he watched Joker's face fall and legs give out underneath him in despair so that he fell down into a heap of sadness against the window when he found no way out, he couldn't help but think that the mind of that clown had been wrecked for a years too long and too deeply to ever be fixed by anything. 

When that night Joker began to cry into the bed-sheets, Harvey stood up and went over to the clown and hugged him to his side to comfort the broken man who found himself tied down to place so unfamiliar, he really felt like he was the last one in this joint with an actually haywire brain that nothing could be done about and because that he feared he would never get to be with his Bat. 

So when Joker sniffled against Harvey's shirt in the soft dim light coming from the emergency exit signs, he asked him the only thing he wanted to know. 

"Is he going to come back?" 

And because Harvey didn't understand what he was talking about, he asked: "Who, Joker?"

And Joker asked again, looking up to meet the man who was holding him while he cried and the blue eyes which only held worry and empathy for him, he looked at Dent with eyes looking more desperate and distressed Harvey had ever seen anyone look.

"Is Batsy going to come back?" 

And Harvey had to swallow the painful lump in his throat to answer that he couldn't say - as if he didn't know. But in actuality Harvey couldn't say, because he wouldn't not be able to stand the look in Joker's eyes when he would have to tell him no. That Batman wasn't out there anymore. That Batman had been killed. 

Instead he kept holding the smaller man who once had been such a menacing vision to hold, all through the nights to come, because the Batman hadn't come back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wondering if I should just leave it at that or would you like another chapter still? Cause I have some more ideas but I just thought that that's a pretty good ending too.


	4. We Find

It takes five months until they trust Joker to be fit enough to join the other patients in the common areas, however only when supervised by a nurse. Of course the halls are always supervised by them as well as wardens, but they think that it's best that there's always someone  looking specifically over him at all times and standing close by if anything happens. They assign him a nurse that can care for him properly and keep him safe, someone he can begin to trust which can be achieved when the nurse won't change constantly. 

His name is Bruce and he wears white nurse's clothes like the rest of them, but he smiles at Joker kindly. Joker isn't so sure about him, but his eyes are blue and he hugs Joker when he feels really bad and slipping out of control. 

So, Joker has been behaving well lately. He hasn't caused chaos to say at least and has been acting relatively calm and collected. Almost too much so. 

His doctor has diagnosed him to be depressed and suffering from constant anxiety which is wearing him down. They still been able to keep him somewhat together despite the panic attacks he gets from time to time. However quite a lot of the credit of that goes to Dent actually for keeping Joker company during the lonely nights. Not that Joker wouldn't have gotten used to sleeping alone by now from spending two years in solitary confinement, but somehow the difference in the scenery really has struck him hard and opened his eyes to reality a bit more if it's even possible for him. The only thing he now knows is that he's not going to get out of this asylum like his usual self if at all. And if he's not getting out, he's not going to see Batsy anymore.

That really hurts. More than he could ever explain. 

Because before he got out of his padded cell, there was a chance for him to move on to somewhere. But now that he has, he realizes that he has come to a dead-end and there's no options left and nothing that he can hope for.

But do not be fooled because his hope for a future out of here is not completely destroyed. That would be a lot simpler and easier. Wouldn't hurt at all this much. It would be numb - wouldn't feel like anything. Instead of that, a certain something resembling hope lingers inside his brain wrapping him up in a tight space that's encompassed with barbed wire and if he moves too much, the spikes start to tear and scratch at his sensitive skin. 

It's not as bad at daytime, because people are moving around then and action and motion has always relieved his brain a bit. Tells him that the world keeps on moving and he might too in some way even if just for going out into the dining hall to nibble on the healthy proper meals. That there are more than just his thoughts that keep terrorizing his will to stay alive if it's really true that there really isn't a possibility left for him to see his Batsy anymore. But he keeps doubting and cannot progress to follow a certain take of action from there. Cannot become hopeful but not numb either. 

But the most horrible and terrifying idea that comes to his mind about this whole ordeal, when his thoughts manage to come to some sort of a conclusion, is that even during those two long years and even after that, Batsy has not visited him once. Has he not cared about him to even come see how he's doing? How can he tell Joker that he wants him to get better and then not help him along, be right by his side, back him up when he's feeling low? Isn't that what lovers do?

And if Batsy won't do that for him...

Did he just want to get him out of the way? To lock him up like the rest of the criminals that have fought with him? Isn't he special to him anymore? 

Was he ever?

So he breaks down when it's dark and he's alone wrapped up in his white fluffy blanket and void of any comfort of the sounds and motion from daytime. He doesn't remember what he's supposed to do and what he's supposed to think, because his thoughts go in circles, focusing on the fact that he needs Batsy and he cannot get him and it _hurts_.  
He cries pitifully in his blanket with his knees drawn to his chest, shaking and aching.

It doesn't always last all night, because Harvey wakes up to the sounds sometimes and picks him up to fit him next to him on his single bed. It isn't big enough for them both, but Harvey has Joker tucked him to his chest and Joker's quite small framed. Harvey rubs his chest gently and slowly in circles, breathes calmly next to his ear and heart thumping against Joker's back, and Joker feels slightly better again and falls asleep finally. 

When Bruce comes to wake him up in the morning for breakfast and finds him next to Harvey, he looks at him with an expression Joker cannot really figure out. It tells him there's something behind those blue eyes - thoughts he won't share with anyone but which are highlighted and turning like rears inside his head from seeing them like this. 

He asks Joker to keep on sleeping on his own bed and then waits for him when Joker goes to freshen up by the sink. Joker hears him talking with Harvey and suddenly Harvey starts to sound agitated. Joker turns around from brushing his teeth and sees the two arguing over something. 

"I haven't done anything with him. He was just scared and I helped him sleep. I swear it, someone would have noticed from the security cameras if something would have happened."

"Even if you would have done something with Joker - even if he had been begging for it - it would be considered a sexual assault, Dent. He's not fit enough to make decision like that yet. I can't let you continue to have him in your bed, because he could get a panic attack at any moment during the night, and when he feels someone so close to him in the dark, that will put himself and you in danger. Do you understand?" Bruce said with his arms crossed over his chest looking straight at Harvey's face without flinching in the slightest like most people would have.

Harvey didn't say anything, but looked at Bruce like he wanted to say a lot more. "Good. I know that you're much better these days like most of the people here are, Dent, but you have to understand that Joker is a very complicated case of mental instability and that means you have to be extra careful around him too. I know you just want to help him when he's like this, but you need to leave it to the professionals. They know what they are doing. I trust you to do well, because you're a good man, Harvey", Bruce said and uncrossed his arms. Even Harvey's face relaxed some and he looked more disappointed than enraged now. He eventually nodded and Bruce looked satisfied but not so triumphed as one could have expected. 

Joker emerged from behind the curtain and walked over to the nurse dark green eyebrows knitted together. "What is it?" he asked in a small voice, but didn't dare to look up to the man towering over him. 

"I'm taking you to breakfast and then you'll be having therapy with Ms. Cellings afterwards. Are you ready to go?" he said with a soft voice. "I'm ready", Joker answers knowing that Bruce won't be saying anything more about the conversation he just had with Harvey even if he asked. 

Bruce opened the door and placed a guiding hand around Joker's arm and walked them to the dining hall. The other patients weren't so surprised when they saw him anymore, but whenever their eyes met his form, they couldn't help but keep on staring. 

The dining hall was white like the rest of the building but it had something amazing about that the other rooms didn't. 

It had a window. 

A very large one at that. It didn't have any bars on it or anything so surely it was bulletproof inside and out which yet again did make escape an impossible task and practically only lessened Joker's hope with its enforced steel edges, but it was a window nevertheless and Joker could see Gotham. 

Gotham and its dark silhouette against the rising sun which faded the sky into peach and yellow tones. Joker could see that and every morning he would go stand right in front of that window while all the other patients ate calmly in their respective places, here and there perhaps even conversing with another patient. Some would be chattering about him and how pathetic he looked watching the city with such desperation and longing presented on his hollow face. 

Bruce would wait for him at the end of the table for about five minutes before giving in and going over to Joker to get him to come and eat. Joker would not react and would simply keep on staring into the distance. Then Bruce would take a hold of his arm and practically drag him over to his chair. Joker's head would still be turned towards the window and he would not touch his food. The only thing the nurse could do was give him his medication and some water, because even Joker realized that if he didn't do that, they would take him back to solitary. Of course, this time not for so long, a couple hours in maximum, but nonetheless, and Joker didn't enjoy those visits to his old room so much. They brought out his hallucinations worse than anything else because of the sensory deprivation. He didn't dare to say that to his doctors though. They would just make him take more drugs that made his head go fuzzy and limbs a bit loose and disjointed. 

When that breakfast is over, Bruce takes him to his therapy session. They are early in the mornings. He sits on a chair in front of the doctor who's behind a big wooden desk. The doctor asks him some questions and sometimes he answers to a few of them. She has round glasses and her black hair is frizzy and curly and tied to a bun. 

"How are you this morning?" 

He hums, looking at his fingernails which were cut short again the previous day. The nurse who did it, cut some of them too deep and it hurts a bit when he presses those fingers against something. 

"Did you eat this morning?"

He looks at the painting of a seagull sitting on a lamppost along a shoreline. 

"I heard that you've been sleeping in the same bed with your roommate, Mr. Dent."

He nods at that nonchalantly.

"That's not allowed, you do remember?"

There are a couple scars on his forearms and he traces one on his left arm with his finger, tries to remember where he got it from. 

"If that keeps on going, we'll have to move you to a separate, private room, however I know you like to have company."

He can't remember where he got any of his scars anymore really. Only the ones he got from Bat, but even with those ones, he isn't so sure at which time and what event they were connected to. 

"Now, do you care to tell about what happened this afternoon?"

Afternoon? 

He looks up to the square-shaped clock that's hung above the doctor's head. It reads a quarter after four. This is his second session of the day. He looks at the doctor a bit dumbfounded and licks his lips nervously. He's still touching that scar on his left arm. 

"Your nurse told me there was some sort of an incident in the common room. Can you tell me what happened?" 

He doesn't understand it sometimes. How time just flies. Wonder if the person who created that saying had the same thing happen to him too. 

"I think the medication prescribed to you has run its course by now and perhaps we should move on to something else. You've been very docile the last few months, but it seems that it has come to its bitter end. My opinion is that we move you from your current medication to..."

Joker shuts his eyes and wraps his arms around himself as the doctor recites a new list of drugs she's going to prescribe him. He isn't feeling all too well. 

Bruce comes to collect him from the therapy offices and takes him to a new room. It isn't solitary, but it's not the place he's shared with Harvey. Joker's sat on the bed and before Bruce can leave, he wants to ask him what's going on. 

"Have I've been getting electroshock therapy again?" he asks, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand. Bruce turns around from the door he was going to exit from and goes back over to Joker.  He kneels in front of him and stays quiet for a little while before looking up at him with compassionate blue eyes. 

"No, Joker. They don't do that here anymore", he answers quieter than usual but as kind as ever. Joker simply stares at him for a long time and then frowns. "What happened in the common room then?" he asks in small voice. 

"Do you not remember?" Bruce asks him in return, but he doesn't ask like people usually ask him that question. He doesn't ask it like he thinks Joker's stupid or should really remember. He isn't incredulous in the way he asks him if he remembers or not. He's just asking him with a hint of concern shining through his words.

Joker shakes his head and looks at Bruce desperately too. He almost looks like he's about to cry, but won't let himself. Bruce puts his hand on Joker's knee and tells him. 

"You had fit at the common room today. You became hysteric when Mr. Cobblepot began inquiring you. You didn't seem like you wanted to talk with anyone, I could see it from the way you were already gripping the arms of the chair you were sitting on so tightly and from the scared look on your face. I should have acted sooner and I'm sorry for that."

"What did I do?" Joker asks warily, the hands on his lap fidgeting uncontrollably. 

Bruce sighed. "You just began laughing. Very loudly, and that scared the other patients. You ripped some hairs out of your head." 

Joker touches his head curiously and find a small area where there's a little bit of dried blood and some green hair missing. "Okay", he just responds and hangs his head. Bruce rubs his thumb over his knee for a while before he has to get up and leave again.

Joker sleeps in this room from then on and now he doesn't have anyone who can comfort him during the nights. The first night he can't help but scream and a doctor comes to sedate him while some nurses held him down. None of them were Bruce. 

And none of them were Batsy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can also take some constructive criticism too if anyone has the will to do that.


	5. That There Isn't Much

_He's been getting cuts on his forearms from scratching at them during our sessions. I had Bruce bandage them up._

_Is the medication losing its effect?_

_Possibly. He has been talking to me more in therapy, but he's been lying; trying to pass as recovered._

_He doesn't see hope for himself. He needs a stronger dose._

_I reckon the solitary had done him in. He's over his own head and lost in this new world. He isn't getting better._

_Well, at least he's at the right place. This is his home now after all. At least here he'll be taken care of._

* * *

_He's still asking me where 'Batman' is._

_Have you not told him?_

_I have. He's refusing to believe me. But it's almost as if he wouldn't remember._

_Try another form of therapy. ECT might do the trick._

_You are aware that many doctors have tried that on numerous occasions in the past? It is true that at that time this institution wasn't as equipped as it is nowadays and it wasn't always exactly used it in favor of the patient. But do you really believe electroconvulsive therapy could have any positive effects on him anymore?_

_He's on accurate medication now and this time it'd be used on him for his good, to treat him- not to torture him. I would highly consider it._

_Then I shall make an appointment when I see it to be necessary._

* * *

He wasn't sane. Joker knew this. He always had. He had been told plenty times enough. But he was fairly sure he could still act sane if he wanted to. If he really _tried_ to. 

So that's what he did. 

He played the part of a good patient on the path of recovery in the hopes of being released then. It was his last option since actual recovery or escaping weren't available to him. 

It was difficult though. Very much so. Harder than he would have thought it out to be. Because he wasn't sane and his mind was fuzzy and messy from the pills. He still had to down them each time because Bruce was watching him. And to look like a good patient of course. He would have tried to hide them under his tongue but Bruce still checked if he had swallowed them each time. 

He once tried to throw them up at the showers, but as soon as Bruce heard him, he came rushing in and took him to the doctor. That was a step back surely. He would have to work twice a hard now. 

His false recovery included lying through his teeth in his therapy sessions with the curly haired woman. Telling his stories wasn't all that difficult if he was being honest. He would say he was a rather good storyteller if he said so himself. However it didn't come as easy and fluent to him as it used to because he did admit that he was depressed, worried and he wasn't alright, so trying to act anything else under the sedatives was harder to come by. Nevertheless he did his very best and put on a brave face.

Slowly Joker started happier and better and actually talked to his therapist, telling her about an abusive past and a cruel father. He told her about drug abuse and how he had ended up in awful relationships until eventually he lost his job due to his addiction and had to turn to the illegal side of work force. Then his girlfriend has died in a gang fight and he was beat up bad. Then after an unfortunate accident by a chemical plant, Batman pushed him down into a vat of acid and he became the Joker who they all knew and loved with his insanity, playful tricks and mischief. 

This was relatively easy to come up with. Some might have even held some truth to the stories, but Joker couldn't know. He couldn't remember. 

What really was hard was to _act_ normal. Not to twitch, not to look like someone who didn't realize the day changing into another, not to hurt yourself and not look so pitiful and desperate. 

But oh, oh, how he wanted to get out. How he needed to get out. He was losing his mind. Or rather had. 

Joker thought his doctor would look a bit happier from him acting like he was finally taking the steps towards recovery. Instead she would frown when he would tell her about how well his day had been and what his plans were for the future _when_ he got released. How he was thinking of becoming an entrepreneur. Maybe open up a bakery when he would recruit enough money for it. 

She didn't look as happy as he had thought she would. She would smile, but just a little even though Joker was putting on his excited tone and wearing himself out for all of this. He just guessed that maybe that's how they were. They didn't want to get their hopes up since their patients could always get sidetracked and relapse again. That was probably it and Joker wasn't going to let that bring him down since after all, he would not relapse. This was all acting - he could go on as long as he needed to. As soon as he would feel the stone bricks against his gloved hands, he would be able to give it up and throw out those dreadful white and purple pills and run to his Caped Crusader. Then he would be able to release that breath he had been holding since the day he was locked up here. 

He'll just need to wait for his plan to work. Wait for them to eat it all up so he can reach his goal. In the meantime he'll try to follow the plan himself and try remind himself of what he's supposed to do and how he should act and not make anyone mad or disappointed in him. He needs them to be proud of him. To be satisfied (oh, the one thing he would have never thought of doing for anyone expect maybe, possibly, perhaps for his one true love. Only for him if anyone.) and decide that their treatment has done it's deed and he's become a well brained citizen of Gotham. 

This will work eventually. It's his only chance and hope of getting back to his Bat. Maybe he'll then even take him in open arms for he has now been cured (or so he thinks but it's enough either way for Joker) and they will live happily together after. Maybe he hasn't been sentenced to rot here for the rest of his time after all. Maybe he will be alright again...

And Joker can only hope and wait and wait and hope and watch as the clock's hands tick away time after time.

* * *

It's Wednesday. He's in the common room.

Bruce is there with him of course as always, but Joker has been acting well. They aren't as worried about him attacking the other patients or himself anymore as they once had been. He appears calm and they take that as a trustworthy enough sign. Maybe it's because of the new set of medication (just larger portions) or perhaps he's just been very good at his act. Nevertheless even Bruce has his blue eyes glued to the Gotham City news playing on the small, hung up flat screen television. Joker watches the news next to him on the couch as well as he's an intellectual _._

_Doctors like intellectuals, don't they?_

He doodles on a piece of paper with a green crayon and he's been drawing his favorite skyscraper in town. The Wayne logo is wide and high. Plant lady sits in a white armchair next to Joker but on the other side of the door. She's reading a Cosmopolitan and tugging at her cuticles absentmindedly. She sometimes glances at the the puff of green hair draped over the sloppy paper on his lap. He doesn't have a hard surface underneath it, instead the paper's being balanced just on his thigh even as bony as it is, so the drawing comes out rather messy, though fairly recognizable even without the big logo at the head of the building. 

Ivy's getting out on Friday. They are releasing her. They say she has made great progress and is ready to step back into the great wide open. She too has a job waiting for her, at the botanic gardens. It's not much yet. Just some gardening really. But it has some good advancement potential and she might get to work in a laboratory some day even after all of this. They trust her and she feels honest when she says that she can trust herself too. She won't be causing any trouble anymore. 

So she pities him when she looks at the puff of green hair and paper white skin, the red lips, and acid green eyes that bare nothing but the naked truth of something uncontrollable and desperate swarming inside him ready to burst out, leading into utter destruction and mayhem. There doesn't seem to be any good news for him in the future. 

She would never admit it, but she did find him charming once upon a time. And if she's truly honest, maybe she still does. But who wouldn't? If you looked past all the horrible crimes and the insane thoughts falling sometimes too daringly and hazard out of his red mouth, he could be a real cutie. 

These days though, seeing him trying to act all placid and calm and only succeeding to look strictly a half-deranged even on his best nerves, in order to try and be released, so despondent to get out, always and constantly just asking for his Bat, one couldn't help but feel for the little guy with arms bandaged up to his elbows from nervously scratching at them due to immense anxiety. 

The other patients still take a farther route when passing him by if only possible. His looks haven't changed and neither has his history of course. They fear him, some believe he's become even more dangerous now since he hasn't had much outlets to get the mania out himself. Even Ivy still takes precautions when around him despite the army of wardens and nurses surrounding them, and especially Joker during his "bad days". He could still very well lose his cool at any moment even though he looks small and fragile and almost shy with being so tucked away from others, sticking firmly solely on Bruce's side. 

There are however very dark circles under his eyes and whenever Dent catches a glimpse at him and his tired look in the dining hall or in the common room, and Bruce happens notice him looking, Dent makes sure to dispense also a glare in the nurse's direction. 

The news ware talking about economy before moving onto current affairs. Most patients aren't all too keen on the news, but plant lady has the remote and no one bothers enough to move from their seat or ask her to change the program. She isn't all that social either. 

"...causing road damages. And today Wayne Enterprises revealed their new face of CEO as Lucius Fox after former head director Bruce Wayne's passing in the G650ERaircraft incident last May due to an engine fault. Lucius Fox will be taking office on Monday the 12th while also addressing the future of Wayne Enterprises at City Hall now with the last of the Wayne line-"

Everything freezes for a moment. Then, Joker's head snapped up and his wide eyes locked onto the shiny screen of the television and the pixilated edges of the female newscasters figure. Jaw dropped open in shock, his hands have stopped drawing and have begun to tremble slightly. 

Plant lady changes channel to a weather forecast. It's going to rain on Thursday.  

Abruptly Joker darts up from the couch and the paper and green crayon fall to the floor. His eyes are still locked on the television screen but he's shouting at Ivy. 

"No! Change it back! Change it back!" he yells and Bruce is immediately by his side, taking his large hands to Joker's bony shoulders that stick almost painfully visible from underneath his white shirt. "Alright now Joker, why don't you calm down and...", Bruce starts but Joker's not having it. He whips his head around to look at the plant lady. His acid eyes are livid and Ivy can see the mania raging behind them ready to come out. Eyes wide and startled, she had frozen in shock, but finally got her fingers to work and changed the channel back to the original program. Joker whips his head right back to the screen at that, his chest heaving with pants of agitated breathing.

Joker only sees the head picture of Bruce Wayne change into Lucius Fox's before the newscaster moves onto another topic completely irrelevant to what he wants to know. Joker screams in frustration and pulls at his hair. It even looks painful and Bruce gets worried. Joker's having a fit.

Other wardens are coming closer, one has a sedative in her hands, but Bruce shakes his head at them on the sly. Instead the wardens begin to usher out the patients from the common room. Usually, the patient at hand would be taken out, not the others, but with Joker, it was easier this way. A couple wardens stay along side Bruce, but since Joker trusts him the best, it's better to leave it in Bruce's hands as long as possible, see how it's going to be. 

This definitely isn't very good for Joker's reputation, but Joker cannot help himself. He cannot hide his shock. Not now. Not with news like this.

"Hey, J, let's calm down here for a bit. Everything's alright, you just need to calm-", Bruce doesn't get to finish before Joker turns around violently to look at him in the eyes. His whole body is shaking, tensed and eyes big and crazed. 

"You have to tell me! You have to tell me!" he shouts at Bruce and the green eyes begin to water. "What do you want me to tell you?" Bruce asks worriedly. He makes sure to keep his voice collected, steady and low. 

Joker shuts his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again and Bruce can see that desperation drowning him. "Where is Batsy?! I need to see him! I have to! I HAVE TO!" he yells. He finally releases his hair and Bruce feels only slightly relieved that he doesn't see any blood beginning to well up from his scalp. 

Instead Joker goes for the window and presses his hands against it, peering out frantically into the darkened afternoon. "Tell me where he is! I need to go and see him, he promised he would come back", he laments out and slams his fists at the window. It doesn't break of course. It isn't even glass. But Joker might still hurt himself. Bruce can't give up, but he cannot just lie to Joker. Even his doctors have told him the truth even though he hasn't listened to them. Though, if he does listen to Bruce, then things will most likely not end very well tonight. 

"Joker, Batman isn't there anymore. He's gone", Bruce tells him finding his own voice to be sorrowful too. "Batman died."

Joker doesn't move for a while. He's completely still as he looks at Gotham and its many yellow lights. Bruce holds his breath. He feels the other wardens do the same, but keeps his focus on the broken man before him and at any twitch he might make.

Slowly, Joker turns from the window.

"He's dead?" 

He's smiling. A small one. It's sly and coy at the same time. He stares at the clean, white floor from beneath his dark lashes before looking up to Bruce and giving a tiny unhappy laugh (a laugh nonetheless which no one has witnessed in a long, long while). 

"But Batsy doesn't _die._ He can't. Because no one can kill him." Joker laughs again. "You think me a fool! No one can kill Batman!"

Joker's voice has a slightly hysteric edge to it and Bruce prepares himself. For what, he isn't so sure. But right now, Joker's acting a bit more like the Joker everyone knows and fears. Hands whizzing from there to here and back. Smile wide and bright. Deadly thoughts inside that haywire brain. 

"See, because only I can kill Batsy. _Me._ He's _mine._  And since I haven't killed him, he can't be dead!"

His voice gets louder by the sentence. Then it all happens very fast. Joker runs, knocks Bruce backwards with a surprisingly hard and powerful shove and bolts to the doors, slamming them open. They aren't locked since usually they don't need to be and the patients were just escorted out of the room. But there are a dozen other doors locked tightly shut. Joker won't get far. 

The wardens and Bruce still go immediately after him. 

The long, white hallway is the one with the patients' rooms and Joker's running as fast as he can. It's loud, but he isn't laughing. He's sobbing. 

_He can't be dead, he can't be dead, he can't be dead... You promised, you promised you would come for me! You promised_

He's in no state to be doing such taxing maneuvering and they are catching up to him sooner rather than later. The patients are glued to their see-through wall and watch what is going down. 

"Joker, stop! Stop right now!" the wardens order, but he doesn't listen. He's needs to get out. He needs to get to that door, he needs to get out of this damned place with white EVERYTHING, and get to the streets, get to Gotham, get to Bats who still hasn't come for him and get away from all the nurses and doctors who say he's dead. Because it's annoying and it's frustrating and he can't bear it, can't bear it, can't bear it anymore because slowly it's starting to get through to his mind and poison him and make him think and question and fear that they might be...-

"Batman isn't dead!" Joker screams just a few meters from the door (which would have only lead to another hallway with another door which would have also been locked) when the wardens eventually caught up to him and snatched him. 

Joker falls down painfully to the hard floor and he's promptly bound with a straitjacket. He's crying his heart out, screaming and kicking before someone pricks his neck with a shot of sedative. But they don't take him to his room or to solitary straight away. Bruce sits down in front of him and holds his head up with strong, big hands supporting his neck and jaw. The look on Bruce's face is something Joker cannot comprehend. It's so soft and strong at the same time, so sympathetic but confident in him like he would trust Joker too. Like he would believe him and it doesn't make any sense. 

Bruce takes tissue paper from his pocket and wipes the tears and snot from Joker's face as the other wardens stand by around behind him. Bruce smiles at him kindly. 

Joker just looks at him for the while, tears still forming in his eyes and throat clogged up with a hard lump he cannot get rid of. His chest is tight and breathing doesn't come easily. But Bruce smiles at him kindly and strokes his cheek. 

"It's alright, J. You need to relax and let us help you. You can get through this", Bruce whispers.

Bruce's build is familiar, Joker notices when he wraps it around him. Broad shoulders and chest, tall and steady, strong and secure. There's something so familiar with it although it all feels so strange all the same. Joker feels nostalgic for some reason and just for a moment the anxiety lessens - if only for a second, wrapped up in Bruce's warm hold, though still whimpering every once in a while. Not to be misled though for Joker's heart keeps on longing outside where it belongs. This is no place for the Clown Prince of Crime and it'll never be. He knows this and he expects them to it as well by now. They must know. 

But right now Bruce is holding him and breathing comes a little easier. 

And Bruce's eyes are so blue...

He's so close to the door and looking at it relieves him and also pains him. So close, yet so far. And eventually they need to move and Joker protests quietly. "No, no... I need to go to Bats. Need to see him...", he whines with tear soaked eyes, but Bruce shushes at him softly as he's wheeled away to his private room tucked to a wheelchair, the sedative working its way through his bloodstream and gently halting his muscles on its own accord. His eyelids begin to droop and he doesn't take notice of the pitiful eyes glancing down at him from the other side of the glass and Ivy turning her eyes back to her cuticles with a frown and a pout, when two pairs of green eyes might have met. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there again. Sorry about this update taking so long. I've been planning some new fics, actually writing them too, but also a lot of (like a fuck ton, to be honest) school stuff has been bothering me lately, so I've just been procrastinating at everything so it's not you, it's me. I've been trying to get my shit together, but really I haven't even bought any Christmas presents to anyone yet. I was kinda thinking of making drawings, like portrays of the gift receivers, but I haven't really gotten around doing that either. My God, I am the worst. 
> 
> There's really only going to be one chapter left now so brace yourselves! It's been a ride, hasn't it?  
> Not really, no.
> 
> (Also I've been getting onto the Thorki ship and they are sweeping me away. But don't worry, I not as invested in it as I am with Batjokes. By the way, why hasn't anyone wrote much anything for Superbatjokes? I would totally be into that. I already a few ideas for that as well, but I got so much on my plate already, Gods help me.)


	6. Left Of Him At All

The next day in therapy they go over what had happened in the common room.

Joker remembers this time. He remembers it clearly. The things - the lies - that had spilled out of Bruce's mouth.

Joker knows that Batman isn't dead because Batman cannot die and that's just plain logic now, isn't it?

They are taunting him, this he knows for sure. They don't know what else to do with him after all. They are all just playing with him. Trying to make him numb with grief so he'd act better and nicer. It seems they don't know him very well then. 

Well, too bad, nice just isn't in his forte, and you know what? He _really_ needs to see Batman. Right _now_. He needs to get _all_ this lies out of his head and make sure that they are just that. He's tired of it. Tired of being fooled around with like a puppet. 

But he has to listen to them. They make him.

The doctor is sitting in her leather chair behind the great wooden bureau with an expecting brow lift, and this time Bruce is sitting on another plain wooden chair next to Joker - keeping him close in check. But what's interesting is that there's another doctor present too. If Joker's remembers correctly, he's is the head of psychiatry at this piece of shit place and a highly acclaimed one. Joker doesn't recall his name though and doesn't really care to. He does consider this now to probably be a good place to behave all collected and sensible so that he just  _might_ be able to convince especially him of his sanity which would be important since he's the one making the big shots. Maybe this is a revaluation in fact and Joker's finally seeing some light at the end of the tunnel. Closer to freedom. 

The man sits next to Joker's personal therapist close to the corner and seems to be just flicking through his file with a deep frown while Joker's therapist tries to converse with him. Joker's having a harder time maintaining the cool exterior while also trying to talk to his therapist using rational speech from he being so nervous about trying to act so calm and "sane". Doesn't that kind of make it become quite contradictory though? It almost takes notes of self-sabotage. Joker's frowning now too from the effort of not twisting and more looking like someone intrigued and sensible. It's very hard though. Very difficult. 

He needs to listen to the doctor. He at least looks like he's listening to her, right?

But the things Bruce said the day before, really struck a chord in Joker and he has been on the verge of spilling out his beans on just _fucking_ knowing that Batman's out there still - he must be, he has to be - so if they would just STOP with trying to tell him otherwise and release him would be just great, and dammit he's anxious. 

What they really need to stop doing is _fucking_ with him and starting to believe him 'cause _Joker's_ not really in the mood for any more _bullshit_ now and _needs_ to get going. He's tired of playing their _games._ It's time they start going by _his_ rules.

"... and how did you feel when Bruce told you about what had happened to him?"

The therapist pushes the sharp shaped glasses on her nose a little higher while she waits for his answer. Joker glares at this. It's like out of a god damn soap opera in here - and Joker hates soaps. 

"Can any of you actually tell me what even happened to him? Because all you're telling me is that he's _gone._ Well, that's saying much. You have not given me a single piece of evidence whatsoever on his _demise_ which is why I have an _extremely_  difficult time believing any of the things that you're saying", Joker snaps. He almost smiles out of being proud of himself because he thinks he actually managed to sound rather logical just then and even the trembling in his arms had stopped. Sure, he was still wearing the straitjacket which might be the reason for that, but anyhoo. Joker's fairly certain that they should see the fault in the stories now and realize that there's no reason to lie to him anymore. Joker knows the truth. He can _feel_ it. There's no proof they have which they could use to convince him of such stupid lies. And even if there was, Joker knows it would be merely fake.

His therapist sighs in disappointment as in failure and takes of her glasses off completely now. The man next to her looks up from his file and purses up his lips with malcontent as he folds the large paper stack back in its usual position on his lap. 

Joker turns to look at Bruce first feeling felicitous but when seeing his expression, he becomes confused. Bruce too looks disappointed but also apologetic for some reason and that's strange, why does Bruce looks so pitiful? Not him too... Joker can't help but frown at him, his happy face crumbling to desperation once again. 

"Joker... we explained to you what had happened to him just a few moments ago when we began this session. We've explained the situation numerous times to you before as well", the doctor says with a dispirited voice. But as Joker simply looks at her with glassy green eyes, taken aback, she decides to retell the story once again. 

"Alright... There had been a blast by the docks where a mob had situated illegal explosives. Fighting had commenced from some shipment issues which became fatal to some at the scene.The Batman had arrived there to probably do what he usually does, but it seems that someone had accidentally fired at the merchandise which had caused an explosion killing everyone still at the scene."

The doctor takes out a newspaper article and shows it to him on the table. Joker leans in to look at it with a worriedly. There's a great black and white picture of a burning warehouse, flames engulfing the massive but decayed, ratty wood-structure. In huge, dreadful blocks of font, the headline cannot be missed. 

"The police investigated the area after the fire had been managed put out. There were barely any remains of the bodies left because of the extreme heat. The only pieces found of the Batman's armor were scattered around the scene underneath all the rubble. The mask was found floating in the water close by the scene. After this incident no one has seen the Batman around. The Commissioner pronounced him dead after three months of searching and waiting for his appearance. This was in early last May, Joker. No one has seen or heard of him since and there's very little chance of his survival."

Joker's quiet for a while. 

They all wait for him, looking uncertain. Bruce resembles a statue-like composure on his seat next to Joker as he patiently waits for some kind of a reaction like the rest of them. But Joker's staring at the floor, eyes shielded by curtain of green, dead-still, unmoving. Then finally...

"I need to go see him. I need to see Batsy", he says ultimately with a resolute tone to an distinctive, unwavering voice. 

Joker knows. No matter how many times they tell him this same story, he knows the Bat is still out there. After all Batsy _can't_ die in anyone else's hands but his. Batman won't die in an accident or because of a itsy bitsy mob fight. Batsy will die honorably and bloody in Joker's arms and Joker shall bleed to his own death right beside him, holding his hand with a purple glove clad unrelenting grasp. Joker will die listening to the final, quiet, beats to thump inside the well beaten but strong, broad chest with his head on his shoulder. And he will smile and leave that grin plastered on his face for the rest of time and all to see in crime scene photos and newspapers. 

And not to mention that the prince in his shiny black armor had made a promise to him of coming back and Joker wasn't going to let him up on that. 

* * *

They give him electroconvulsive therapy the next day.

The first thing Joker sees is Bruce looming over him blocking the harsh white light from above. And he's like a small, freshly hatched duckling and he imprints on the steady and somehow ambidextrous features of Bruce and the small but secure smile adorning his face when he looks down to him. 

And Bruce will ask him: "How are you feeling?" and Joker will be honest and tell him that he still remembers what they want him to forget and no amount of electricity channeled through the mitch-matched neurons inside his brain will take back what he knows for true in his heart. And this time Bruce will only nod with understanding that not many have expressed to him, and nothing will change the great meaning of that single notion in Joker's opinion even when Bruce administers him a light sedative before taking him back to his room while the other patients curiously look from behind their glass walls at the red, irritated, circular marks now crowning Joker's temples.

Afterwards Joker has almost been frighteningly calm ever since the procedure and has caused not one worryingly aggressive or violent behavioral act that would cause him to be taken back to his room prematurely or in solitary, or even get him a warning shake of a head. However Bruce knows that doesn't mean Joker wouldn't as off the grid as he was before as he hasn't also spoken a word to his doctors or behaved exactly in his normal fashion otherwise. He's become more _childlike_ than ever if just a bit more moody and reclusive.

He's entirely dependent on Bruce. Whether it's because Bruce needs to accompany him everywhere or not, Joker will not have himself be without him at any given time. He's only ever alone when he's in his room during the nights under heavy sleeping medication. When it's time to yet again become fuzzy minded, Bruce pierces it through his skin because he has given up on swallowing a dozen different pills every morning. It has simply become too much for him. It kills him a bit inside to feel how low he has fallen to. Where it all eventually had come to even though it had all started oh so sunny for him and he would be so filled with joy when the sun would rise or the night would fall and he would get to go out to play with his favorite bat. 

And maybe it's nice to watch how Bruce kneels in front of him in the mornings as he gently exposes his arm and carefully fills him up with his venom along with a small smile gracing his lips as he looks up to him gratefully. And then wraps a white bandage back around his elbow and lightly pats twice on it as _"ready"._ before standing up. Joker's the only one with a bandage like that on his arm and he likes to think of it as a marking. Of his specificity, or just a reminder of what's real and what could be real. It doesn't matter for as long as it's Bruce who does it. 

Bruce allows Joker to do a lot of things that patients normally aren't allowed to do. He allows it when the clown comes to sit right across in his lap to cuddle up to him with ragged breathing, shivering form and wide, frightened eyes because something has started bothering him or an anxiety attack has hit him. Those usually happen when he has had to stay away from Bruce for too long, or when Harvey has started talking to him again about things Joker doesn't want to hear, or when the other nutcases have began blabbering around him and/or about him and about how he's so sad these days _"or maybe it's just a tactic and he's planning on an escape, he's so crazy, y'know?" "oh, give it up. he's just little bitch to that fucking nurse now, I mean just look at him sitting on his lap like a dog. I heard he fucks him in the showers or was it the loo..."_

And then the clown will hook his arms around Bruce's neck, and yes the other nurses will give him hard looks for that but they won't bother them, because this is the clown they're talking about and there's still a shared thought of him that if this is what will get the job done, it will do and no one should intervene in it or else they should then suffer the consequences in silence and acceptance. And Joker will get to snuggle up in Bruce's side without hassle and Bruce will hold him while others gape at them. 

* * *

People come and go. 

Mostly go. 

People are becoming cured. 

That's fine. It's good. Joker never really cared for the other patients much. He's glad to see most of them gone. The people who come in these days are your usual cup of depression, anxiety and suicidal attempts. They avoid the Joker like plague but more because it has become a norm during his time in Gotham rather than him being an actual threat anymore. Though it's good to let him have his space, they say. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he's had a setback, and there probably hasn't been a last time yet either. 

Arkham sets up a garden and Bruce takes Joker to plant violas. They go watch them grow on every Sunday afternoon when the sun shines. It's peaceful and they sit on a nice wooden park bench alone from other patients. 

They think he might be making progress. 

" _Well, after the procedure he has been very calm and stable_ ", they say fairly reassuringly accompanied by a slight shrug of the shoulders and a glance over to him where he's talking or just sitting comfortably with Bruce side by side on the park bench, even though Joker _still_ hasn't said a word to his doctors yet. But it has become rather certain that the green haired man was going to stay with them for a very long time and what will be the most important quality about him is him being as stable as possible and not causing any mishaps. And so they let them do their thing though Joker's therapist remains concerned. 

On a Tuesday in the common room, there's a visitor for Joker. 

Dent has been playing chess alone in the corner of the room and every once in while has been glancing at Joker with a longing although still restrained look. Joker who sat on the floor, drawing with a stubby black crayon did not even notice him. All his focus was pointed on the small bubble just around him which was inhabited solely by Bruce and his crayon and paper as for the present. It was still hard for him to concentrate on much larger issues at once with the strong doses of medication that had a hazing affect on his mind. It might also be possibly due to the shock therapy as well. But for now Joker was content enough with just being close to Bruce and being left alone by the others who looked at him warily or pitifully from afar. 

There was a warden accompanying the unexpected visitor, and who informed of the news first to Bruce. When Bruce found out about it he pondered on it for a second before seeing that Joker was fit enough to receive the guest, and allowed them to enter. Of course his superiors had to have also seen it to be alright as well but since Bruce was so much closer to the patient, he was the one who usually made these type of decisions ultimately. 

"J... hey", Bruce called with a soft voice as he knelt down to Joker's level, and green eyes rose from the drawing to meet the blue ones expectantly. There was a impressively innocent and sincere expression adorning the clown's sharp features. He was attentive. Bruce smiled. "There's a visitor here for you. Do you think you're up to seeing them?" he asked Joker with an open look to his face. He could always cancel the meeting if Joker didn't feel like it. He wouldn't force it, never. But he had a feeling that Joker might just be interested in seeing some fresh faces for a change. Not one had come to see him after he had been committed. Not one even after it had been allowed. No one had come to ask. The only one from the outside who had come to see him had been Commissioner Gordon and that was only for professional reasons naturally. However he had spared a pitiful glace over his shoulder to the hospital hearing room where he had interviewed Joker before departing from the man for good. That had been after six months of his commitment. Gordon had told the doctors to help the poor man. 

Bruce waited patiently for the Joker to make up his mind. Joker was biting his lower lip and the green orbs wandered over the white floors thoughtfully before looking up again and nodding lightly. "Okay", he said softly and Bruce smiled in return. "Alright, I'll send them in then. I'll stay right beside you here the whole time, don't worry. Just say the word and I'll see them out right away. I'm sure though it'll be fine. It's an old... friend of yours."

Bruce signaled the warden to let the visitor come into the common room. Bruce went back to sitting on the couch and watched as curled purely blond locks bounced slightly from the steady and sure movement of a redefined Harleen Quinzel. A woman with a new life, a new purpose and new confidence and self-esteem. Her firm and poised gaze did not once flicker to anywhere else but to the Joker himself. And she radiated determination. 

But once she has made her way to Joker, she stops and does so rather indecisively about a feet away from him. The man in question hasn't lifted his gaze from the paper he has went back to drawing, and does not even take notice of his single lone visitor. That's when Harleen, like a bewildered question mark, looks over to Bruce though only for a second when hesitance wins with her on how to approach her old partner in love and crime who surprisingly doesn't seem all that interested in her - like usual however this time quite differently. But she gathers her courage promptly and steps the distance away in a two strides and then pointedly looks down to the man whilst taking a noticeable intake of air in her lungs to ready herself.  

Joker doesn't move. He tilts his head ever so lightly towards Bruce but his gaze remains locked on his drawing. Harleen takes another deep intake of air and looks out of the large window into the darkening city before eventually kneeling down to Joker's level on the floor. There's just about ten inches between them but Harleen has her composure trained to the max and she isn't afraid to look straight into the Joker's eyes now. And Joker does look up now and their gazes meet finally.

What's surprising about the situation to both Bruce and Harleen is how Joker's _not._ He isn't startled one bit, doesn't even look that much interested even. He looks at her like he looks at the painting of yellow flowers in the canteen when he avoids Bruce's attempts of  trying to make him eat something else than just the fruit salads and puddings. It's an innocent look but a terribly absent one. 

Harleen has clearly been waiting for some dramatic reaction from Joker after not seeing her for such a long time and especially for seeing her as a changed woman. And why Harleen was here, was for him to see her independent and liberated from him. Despite being a person who might have once fallen all too many times in his clutches from not being able to deny him and his attractiveness, she had still made it back to herself and had freed herself from her obsession towards him. She was here today to show him that she wasn't his anymore and could never ever be anymore. She was strong and unattainable and she wasn't going to be pulled under his spell any longer. 

And the truth to be told, she was here to prove _herself_ that she was no longer his, that she could fight him off and she was over him and she was recovered. And she was going to do all of this by also telling it directly to Joker as well. 

However, she found it to be a stupid, immature idea as she looked into those green, glassy eyes that stared back at her with an evidence of alienation and resignation. This wasn't the man whose spell she had fallen under so many times before. This wasn't the man she would have done anything for. For who she would have killed and died all those times before. This wasn't the Joker anymore. This was a mental patient whose illness the doctors never knew how to cure. 

Harleen became sad in fact. She only (well, maybe mostly might still be a better word) felt sympathy for the man in front of him. Her eyes softened as she gazed over the face with cheekbones too sharp and prominent and eye too big, and over the hunched thin frame and the bones that protruded from even under the soft white garments. The paleness of his skin was matched by his clothes and Harleen gulped painfully. 

She finds herself still waiting for Joker to recognize her when the silence stretches out between them for longer than it should. She notices the drawing he had been making with that stubby black crayon and cranes her head a bit to see it better. It's Gotham skyline at night. And there, in the right corner on top of one of the olden style skyscrapers with gargoyles decorating the top, stands a dark figure with a cape flowing in the breeze. 

It's a great drawing actually. It's detailed, artistic especially for a crayon drawing and Harleen's actually impressed. 

And somehow that's also the moment when she in fact finally realizes it - fully comprehends it - that Joker _was never really sane at all._

And Harleen feels awful for not truly really understanding it earlier. For her part but for his part too. (She was his psychiatrist after all.)

So she finally begins and tell him something she really wasn't planning on. 

"I forgive you."

She tells him this in a unexpectedly wholesome and sincere tone that falls a bit quiet and soft but steady and honest nevertheless.

And Joker looks at her curiously now and even frowns a bit. But then his gaze drops back to his drawing and when he looks back up to her again, he looks suddenly hopeful and expectant. He twists his hands in his lap like a nervous child while he wets his lips before daring to speak up. And when he does, Harleen feels like her heart has fallen down to her stomach and she feels her chest tightening painfully. 

"Is Batsy going to come soon too?"

Harleen can't look into the hopeful and horribly innocent looking green eyes anymore and has to shut her own ones tightly before she standing up. Joker's gaze follows her movements, and she looks at Bruce with a clearly heartbroken expression although she's doing her best in trying to camouflage it. Bruce stands up from the couch to lead her to the common room door. 

There Harleen once again takes a deep breath before looking up at Bruce too. Bruce has a small, sad smile plastered on his face like usual and looks remorsefully back to her. Harleen crosses her arms over her chest and her mouth sets into a hard line with a huff. 

"You _haven't_ told him?" she asks him very much accusingly with a frown. Bruce looks even more apologetic now. He glances over his shoulder to a confused and hurt looking Joker from being abandoned like that by the both of them without a word. He smiles reassuringly to him and Joker relents at that and goes to looking at the television innocently, green fluffy hair falling over his eyes.

Bruce looks back to Harleen and the smile falls off of his face and shakes his head with a sigh. He looks at her with sorrowful blue eyes and tells her this like it's an explanation and not just a evident remark. 

"He's not well, Harley", he says which they all already know. 

But there's nothing more that Harleen can say so she leaves without even glancing back to look at Joker for one last time. 

* * *

Joker's been good for a long time now. Not a single step taken into a wrong direction for four months. 

They've allowed him to stay in the common room later than normal. That's where he likes to be, looking out of the window for most of the time. 

The sun has set about a half an hour ago and the city is lit up with artificial glow. Joker is there by the window like usual and plays with the patient ID bracelet on his wrist absentmindedly. 

He only has ten minutes on his clock now before having to go back to his room. But Joker savors each second of them. Patiently he uses them as he looks out into the dark city that has recently been congratulated and awarded in the news for cutting their crime-rates by _half_ which is astounding for Gotham because it means that the city is no longer the most criminally ridden city in the country but has in fact dropped to the fifth place instead, and the rates are steadily lowering week by week. 

And for Joker, this only proves him right against everyone else though he doesn't say this out-loud anymore. However it's also why he insists on getting to view out of the window he can all the while he knows it would be time to go back to his room. It's why he makes sure to behave well, so he can at least have this, ten minutes, if he it's impossible for him to get out. Because he needs to make sure that he's right - and Joker just wants to see him again.

It's been so long... he's been starting to see him when he shouldn't be there. Honestly, which might sound a bit sad, is that when Joker does see him even when he knows it's not real, he's always thrilled and overjoyed. He has to keep it under the wraps though so that the doctors wouldn't notice, because Joker doesn't want it to be taken away from him as well. He's agitated, nervous. Joker's afraid of exposing the make-belief that has started to run inside his mind again, that one glass stripe he has anymore to walk on back into the the dark streets into the painful but loving punches and embraces of the Bat in the shadows - now, when all else is gone. 

It's around eight pm and Joker has only five minutes left now. He knows it's actually ridiculous because Batman never comes out this early but this the _only_ way for him. He can't plead the doctors or the wardens to let him stay out longer, at least not as long as he would need, because then he would have to explain again and they _don't_ believe him. It would all just become a mess again, and it's infuriating, and they would lock him up tighter and he would have to work ten times as hard to be trusted for the fourth time.

It's a dead end with a bulletproof window in the middle of it to the other side - just enough to keep his hopes up, just enough to never fulfill them. 

Joker's waiting nevertheless. He's waiting for the Batsignal to lit up the sky. 

And Bruce watches him from afar knowing exactly what he's doing. And then, reluctantly, he will have to call it a day and take Joker back to his room and medicate him to sleep. While waiting for the clown's woesome brain to turn off, he sits on the bed patiently looking, watching the green eyes fall shut and breathing slow down but never become steady.

They will never release the Joker, Bruce knows this. But he wishes they could. He wishes Joker could do it.

Then when Joker eventually falls under, Bruce gently strokes his fingers through the soft green hair in secret for as long as he can before regretfully he has to stand up and leave - once again. And his blue eyes will glisten in the dim fluorescent lighting as he walks back into a life outside although it doesn't feel his all that much anymore, because Bruce finds himself too inadvertently watching out for the Batsignal to appear between the skyscrapers against the dark canvas of the clouds even though he knows it will never be the case anymore. After all Batman was long dead. And at times, if Bruce was painfully honest, it felt like the Joker was too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this taking this chapter taking this so long. I spent my sweet time working on it and hopefully some of it shows, because this time actually reread this before posting. Still I'm really sorry about being this hopeless with using commas, proper grammar and other whatnots in English. I'm not even that good with them in my mother language either since I'm a half-wit, but if anyone would bother enough to explain just a few simple rules for using them, they would be greatly appreciated. Sure, I could just search for them myself, but I rather hear it from you guys if you don't mind me asking and if you happen to be truly bored.  
> Oh and if you feel like my writing is a bit hard to understand, well that's probably because I try to make it artistic and shit so you can't make much sense of it in the end unlike with good writers. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. I had a nice time writing this even though it might not show since this was still rather angsty. But I kinda like this sort of Joker though I can't write him all too well. Okay, but enough with the ramblings. I hope you'll have a nice day or evening. See you maybe on another fic again. I have a one-shot coming up in a few with Batjokes set in the new DC universe (I know a lot of people don't really care for it, I'm a bit iffy about it as well, but I got onto this train at a late notice so I don't have all that much sweet memories to compare it to. But I'm hopeful and they'll still be the same characters, right? So, I'm just happy if I get to see them. Though it would be nice to see them portrayed well and honestly, and dammit, can't they make Batjokes canon yet?! For fucks sake, it's basically already canon in the comic universe.
> 
> Oh yeah, and if you'd like to leave me with some prompts on this couple here, I'm open to hearing them though I cannot promise anything. I do have a lot of other things to do too at the moment so it really might take a while either way.
> 
> \- Also there's going to be the tiniest of epilogues after this chapter. Like really short but still. Either wayyy, I just feel like not really letting go of this story since it really was close to my heart as short as it was compared to most of my stories. But this one really wanted to be a little bit neat if possible. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.


	7. As Hope Is A Poisonous Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye bye

Ten years later at seven am in the morning when Joker's just skin and bones and his green hair is past his shoulders and his acid eyes are dulled by medication but the paper white skin as youthful as ten years earlier due to the same old chemical bath that left his brain an open-thread, he's still half-asleep when he gains a roommate for the first time.

He tells him his name is Bruce and that he's Batman.

Joker stares at him for full five minutes without blinking as he lies under three blankets tucked around him. Then he turns his back to him and says:

"Batman is dead."

* * *

 I II III IV V VI VII x IV

* * *

 

A month later Joker's sleeping in Bruce's bed secretly at night.

He sleeps with his troubled head resting against a broad, warm, calmly beating chest with great big, secure arms holding him close all the while Bruce whispering " _I'm sorry_ " into his hair. 

Joker rather keeps his eyes closed than looks up to his face - after all white is such a boring color.


End file.
